Celestia awoke to sunlight flittering across her muzzle.
It was the first time in many years she was not responsible for it.
Her mouth was dry. In fact, it was beyond dry. It was a desert of a sandy dune for a tongue and scorching rocks for teeth. She slowly forced her muzzle to close, then open. A dry wheeze rattled from her throat as a crusted magenta eye cracked open.
It was too bright. The eye closed, then opened again. The pupil dilated. She was laying on her bed, but her head hung off the side, facing the balcony. Something was stuck to her horn. Celestia forced her throat to swallow, then opened her other eye.
Luna was standing on the opposite balcony in a starry nightcap. She bore a look of absolute disappointment, then shook her wavy mane and slammed the balcony doors shut. Her blue curtains bulled across the windows as the alicorn went back to bed.
Celestia lifted her horn, letting a four-thousand-bit pillow slide off the end where it had been speared lengthwise. She smacked dry, cracked lips before wheezing again. Her legs and wings were tangled in stained bedsheets.
Oh Crom…
Celestia had not thought about that ancient deity in untold years, but neither had she gotten this drunk since those days. The pounding at the base of her horn brought a sense of queasiness to her stomach. She dared not use her magic, so she carefully extracted her hooves from the nest of sheets with trembling limbs.
Her private shower turned off. Celestia did not notice. She further did not notice the earth pony wander out of the bathroom with one of her best towels wrapped around his mane and another around his barrel. His eyes were bloodshot, but he grinned at her.
“Good Morning, Princess,” the stallion drawled in a soft voice.
Celestia stared at him. The stallion pointed to the nightstand with a lacquered hoof. She noted it was her lacquer. She turned her head as quickly as she could, which was glacially slow considering the migraine. Her crusty eyes landed on a glass of stagnant water.
The alicorn leaned down and bit the rim with her teeth, tipping the glass back and chugging what she could down. She coughed, but forced herself to swallow. A memory seized her of once plunging her muzzle into a river, guzzling down the only fresh water source in miles. She would have died if not for that river.
Celestia was only little Huitzilopochtli then, wandering through a jungle.
A far bigger mare unclenched her jaw and let the glass gracelessly fall to the bedspread. She licked her lips to moisten them, then tried to smile. “My little pony…” she rasped, then suppressed a wince at the absolute destruction of her normally kind tone.
She sounded like she ate rocks.
“Pet names already?” the stallion laughed. He fluffed the towel around his mane. Celestia admitted he was her type: well built, solid, with large hooves and a square jaw. She had always preferred earth ponies.
Which was a problem, because she hadn’t taken anypony to bed in…
Celestia blinked crusty eyes and struggled to focus them on the grinning stallion. He crossed the bedroom and set out a secondhoof tuxedo that had been sprawled on the floor, grimacing at the stains on the fabric.
“Oh, they’re gonna charge me double to clean this.” His muzzle brightened. “I guess that isn’t a problem anymore, huh?” the stallion said to the alicorn on the bed.
“My little pony…” Celestia rasped again. Her head pounded. The guards wouldn’t have let a random stallion into her bedroom. “What are you doing in my room?”
The stallion froze mid-grin. His bloodshot eyes were very wide, and he sucked in a breath. “How…” he paused. “How much do you remember about last night, Princess?”
The alicorn sluggishly raised her right wing to blot out the sun. As she moved it, Celestia registered the fine silk hanging from her feathers, attached to a dress that flowed down her back. She knew that kind of dress; she had stood before many mares wearing a similar gown.
Celestia had married many couples wearing gowns, having officiated their weddings. For now, she used the silk to blot out the rays of her cursed sun. The alicorn eyed the tuxedo, then the bow tie that was hanging off the rotating fan above her horn. She caught a glint of metal in the edges of her vision when her runny eyes squinted upwards.
The Sun Princess leaned down and gracelessly pawed at her horn, finally spotting the golden band plugged halfway down the spirals. She took in a deep breath, then exhaled. It was time for damage control.
“My little pony,” Celestia said in a voice that sounded like she had drunk nothing but hard liquor for three centuries, “are we married?”
The stallion squeaked.
Celestia accepted that as a yes. “What is your name?” she ground out.
The stallion bowed properly now. His head towel slipped down and revealed a dark brown, bushy mane. His voice squeaked again. Celestia waited on the bed, squinting and somehow feeling her heartbeat in her horn.
“J-jungle Trek,” the stallion whickered on his knees. He stood up. “I-I swear, I d-didn’t—” Celestia closed her eyes as the stallion raised his voice, which he took as a sign to talk even louder. “We…we didn’t d-do anything! I s-swear it!”
Celestia breathed in through her nose. “I believe you,” she rasped.
“O-oh thank Cele— uh, you.” The earth pony wiped a fetlock across his muzzle. “You were quite the cuddler, but, uh, passed out like a rock and didn’t let go until thirty minutes ago.”
The room smells of vomit, alcohol, and sweat, but not sex, you foal. Celestia tried to push out the unkind thought. “You are not one of my guards,” she said aloud. “You were at the gala.”
“In the garden,” Jungle Trek confirmed.
Celestia remembered.
Somewhat.
It was hazy.
She was on her seventeenth cocktail and an earth pony in a poorly-fitting tuxedo had made some horrible joke. The alicorn found it hilarious. He had told another, more emboldened, and she spoke with him while a waiter fetched more drinks.
She remembered the drinks. Celestia hiccupped on the bed and still tasted the fruit in the back of her mouth. It made her stomach twist. And she vaguely remembered flying. Or teleporting.
Celestia craned her neck back, risking exposure to the dreaded sun on the open balcony. She grabbed a velvet rope hanging beside the ruined pillows with her teeth and tugged. A dainty bell rang above the bed, magically enhanced to chime to the hallway outside.
A maid and guard entered the moment the ringing stopped. The stallion was one of Luna’s Night Guards with enchanted bat wings, which was unusual because it was the day shift. The maid was a pegasus. Both bowed before the bed with the utmost decorum.
“Princess Celestia,” they intoned together. Celestia nodded. Slowly. They stood.
Jungle Trek stood to the side, ears pinned. The maid and guard turned to him.
“Prince Jungle Trek,” they said formally and bowed as well.
Jungle Trek squeaked, then grinned. “Uh, r-rise?”
They did so.
Celestia watched the exchange and felt the pounding in her horn double. She couldn’t help the squint. “Sergeant Nocturne, Miss Lily.”
“Princess Celestia,” the guard dipped his head. The maid did the same.
“May we discuss last night?” Celestia rasped as professionally as she could in a stained wedding dress on a trashed bed. Her mane and tail were limp, roiling like her stomach.
“I…” the guard hesitated, “I have a prepared statement from Princess Luna.” He pulled a scroll out from a slot under his wing.
Celestia waited.
“I have been told to read it verbatim,” the guard elaborated with nervous golden eyes.
Celestia waited with a frown.
“Sister: You declared that stallion to be the love of your life in the garden, then teleported him to a Thestral Moonspeaker and demanded to be married. After being informed you needed a dress to buy time, you ransacked Miss Rarity’s Canterlot store for a wedding dress—which she happened to have one in your size and that raises many questions—whereupon you were married under the light of my moon at 2:43 AM. I was busy dealing with the nobility—again—and I am afraid the marriage is binding. It is in the morning news. Last night you dreamed of hayburgers and your husband dreamed of being suffocated by a giant snake because you were crushing him with your forelegs.”
Jungle Trek flinched and popped a foreleg. Celestia realized some parts of his blue fur were darker blue because of the bruising underneath. She sighed. “Is that all?”
“Yes, Princess,” the guard nodded. “Secretary Inkwell has arranged for a meeting this morning to discuss the… situation.”
“Thank you,” Celestia rasped. “Dismissed. I need a word with my… my husband.”
The maid and guard bowed again, then bowed to the new Prince Jungle Trek, then backed out of the room. The click of the door as it closed reverberated through the alicorn’s skull, somehow as loud as a gong. Or cathedral bells. She turned crusty, bloodshot eyes to the earth pony.
He flinched. Despite using her shower and tub fit for four, the stallion still looked horrifically hungover. He simply carried it better, which was a sure sign Celestia still had a quality choice in husbands. The alicorn’s horn glowed for a moment, but the effort made her headache a thousand times worse. It felt like a spear had been driven into the base of her skull.
“There are curtains,” Celestia rasped. The raised wing fluttered vaguely in the direction of the window. Her cursed sun still streamed through the glass on the balcony doors. And Luna’s door remained closed with dark curtains drawn.
The Prince shuffled over to the balcony and tugged them shut. The towel around his barrel slipped, revealing a cutie mark of a map flanked by trees with a small dotted line to a larger X. Celestia admitted to herself it was a decent enough flank; it also marked the earth pony as an explorer.
“Were you here with the Cartographical Society of Canterlot?” Celestia asked. Her voice remained gravelly.
“Yes,” Jungle Trek said confidently. He tugged the towel up without a shred of confidence and offered the mare a brittle smile. “I, uh, this wasn’t exactly a planned—”
Celestia stumbled off the bed with the grace of a foal learning to walk. Her bridal veil dragged across the floor with the rest of the silk. With the pearl curtains closed, she managed to marginally open her eyes and step around her golden horseshoes laying on the rug.
The alicorn flared her wings for balance as she shuffled to the bathroom. The Prince—her husband—remained at the curtain. Celestia stopped before the door, eyes sluggishly moving to the pith helmet on the shelf beside her golden tiara. Her neck creaked as she turned back to Jungle Trek.
The earth pony swallowed. “You, uh, put it there. Last night.” He raised his forehooves and mimed reaching for it. “The shelf is, uh, a little high.”
Celestia should have carefully grabbed the helmet and set it down for the earth pony. Or she could have asked her maids to clean up the room afterwards. Instead, she roughly grabbed the helmet with a curled wing and slung it across the room to the bed. It landed upright with a muted thump, puffing a few feathers from her destroyed pillow into the air.
She bumped against the doorframe before using it as a guide into the bathroom, then kicked the door shut behind her. Celestia did not need many cosmetics; her mane and tail effectively took care of themselves. Right now, they hung like limp noodles from her head and tail, wriggling like worms drawn up from the ground.
Should just cut them off again. Celestia did not feel much like a Princess. She stumbled up to her sink, knocked the empty jar of hoof lacquer aside, then stared at the ruin of a mare in the mirror. Her eye shadow from the Gala ran down into her fur, her lipstick was smudged down her chin, and the ring on her horn appeared to have come from a cereal box.
She leaned forward and pressed the tip of her horn against the glass. She let her head hang above the sink, breathing through her nose. Her stomach still flip-flopped above her hooves. Celestia did not trust her magic, so slid her head down and bit on the faucet nob, turning it to ice cold.
After letting it fill up slightly, she plunged her muzzle into the sink. The makeup and mascara floated as it washed away in the icy-cold water. Celestia remained with her head in the sink for three minutes, then withdrew and snorted out her nose. The shock of the cold managed to make her fully open her eyes for the first time since she woke up.
It was nearly impossible to tell where the bloodshot veins ended and her magenta irises began. Her pupils were pinpricks in the bathroom lights. She raised her wings, noting a loose primary feather in the left, then flicked the switches for the fans. Several industrial-strength fans hummed and sucked the moisture out the room, clearing the fog. Celestia was left standing in her white wedding dress. It was a shade brighter than her coat color. She slowly turned around and craned her neck back to look for the zipper.
It was melted. Fused together, actually.
That suggested she was attempting to take it off last night, and was too drunk to manage her telekinesis. Celestia took a deep breath, feeling the fabric pinch against her flank and barrel. Because I need to lay off the cake.
She ripped the dress off with a loud, rending tear. A moment later, she realized what she just did as she stared at the scraps of expensive silk littering her bathroom floor. The alicorn’s wings sagged.
“Note,” she said hoarsely to her haggard reflection, “recompense Miss Rarity.”
The alicorn left the bathroom after a short, bitterly cold shower. She wore no towel; her fur wafted with bits of steam as the residual droplets burned away. Her husband had used all the conditioner for her illustrious, elemental mane, so it floated about with visible split ends and no discernable pattern.
Prince Jungle Trek had put on his second-hoof tuxedo. He blushed and turned away with a wriggling tail. Celestia raised a brow at the attempted modesty.
I recall being equally naked at the party.
“You were, Princess,” Jungle Trek said to the wall. “A-apologies.”
Celestia’s eye twitched in time with the throbbing from her horn. And my internal filter is off, she thought consciously. Jungle Trek did not respond, so that boded well. She levitated over her golden horseshoes and shoved them on.
She only found three of them. Celestia stared at the floor, then crouched down to peer under the bed. She gagged from the motion as the pounding in her horn doubled.
The Prince coughed awkwardly and held the missing horseshoe out. It laid over his own forehoof as if he were a foal trying on his mother’s shoes. “You, uh, dropped it at the chapel and I never had the chance to give it back,” he said lamely.
Celestia’s attempted thankful smile was more of a grimace. Her magic wobblily levitated the horseshoe over to her left foreleg, then she took a few breaths before standing up. She did so slowly, conscious of her stomach. “Thank you, my little pony,” she said as regally as she could.
Which was not very regal at all. Celestia finally levitated her tiara off the shelf and affixed it to her head, adjusting it with a tired wing. Husband stared up at wife with the face of a foal caught with his hoof in the cookie jar.
Best say it now. “We are getting a divorce,” Celestia said gracelessly. “Immediately.”
Jungle Trek’s expression collapsed, then immediately returned with a look of affected nonchalance. “Well, yeah,” he scoffed. “Of course. I never expected otherwise.”
Celestia closed her eyes. “I am sorry, my little pony. It has been a long time since I have…indulged to such a degree.” In more ways than one.
Jungle Trek squeaked.
Celestia opened her bloodshot eyes. Her husband gaped up at her. “I said that last part out loud, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jungle Trek said smoothly. He waved a hoof after recovering. “I…I understand. It’s not you; it’s me. This relationship just won’t work. I’m much too busy.”
“From Blueblood’s example, being a Prince isn’t much work at all,” Celestia snorted before she could stop herself.
Jungle Trek laughed. It was a good baritone.
Celestia finally managed a proper soft smile, then extracted the ring from her horn. She inspected it briefly. She had assumed it was old in the mirror from the dullness of the gold, but in truth it was tarnished with age. The ring was very, very old, and the inscription on the inside was nearly faded.
It was in the old, nameless tongue, long before Ponish.
Beloved, Season Unending
Huitzilopochtli dropped the ring from her magic, then managed to catch it with a sluggish wing. It caught on one of her misaligned primary feathers, and she ground her teeth. “Where…where did you get this?” she said to her husband.
Jungle Trek blinked.
Huitzilopochtli realized she was speaking the old tongue.
“I’m sorry,” Celestia apologized. “Where did you get this?” she repeated.
“Oh,” Jungle Trek chuckled, “one of the digs.” His muzzle quirked. “From the Cartographer’s Society!” he added quickly.
Celestia floated the ring back up to her muzzle. Should I be flattered or upset that the wedding ring is as old as I am? She snorted. Not as if he knew that. “I was surprised by the inscription,” the alicorn admitted. “This is a very old ring. And very expensive to the right ponies.”
“Oh,” Jungle Trek shrugged a hoof. “It was just laying around in a ruin.” He brushed his helmet around and pointed at a tear. “Bent down to pick it up and dodged the dart trap.”
Celestia laughed. She felt queasy afterwards. The alicorn tossed the ring back. “I won’t deprive you of your lucky ring.”
Her aim was off and the ring fell three hooves short. Jungle Trek limped over and picked it up. His pith helmet did not match the tuxedo. Celestia noted he hesitated before bending down and picking up the ring with his teeth, tucking it into a jacket pocket. He breathed out through his nose.
“You’re taking your liquor better than I am,” Celestia said aloud. She winced afterwards. Think before you speak. It was a tall command, considering the ache in her head.
“Practice,” Jungle Trek said slyly. “Half of the job is drinking.”
Princess Celestia and Prince Jungle Trek stared at each other awkwardly.
Her stomach rumbled.
Celestia’s ears pinned back. “Breakfast,” she decided aloud, “then we’ll talk about…the situation.”
“You mean get divorced,” Jungle Trek said neutrally. He smirked afterwards.
“Yes,” Celestia admitted. “I…” she stumbled, “I hope I did not ruin a marriage.”
“Oh no!” Jungle Trek huffed. “Not married. E-except to you. You asked.”
“I did?” Celestia hiccupped and tasted the fruit cocktail again.
“That’s…” Jungle Trek paused. “That’s kinda what started this.”
Celestia blinked slowly. “I am sorry, my little pony. Hopefully I did not make a big deal out of this.”
The Prince cringed, lowering his pith helmet over his eyes.
I absolutely did. Good job, Huitzy. Too hungover to even keep your name straight. Celestia plodded across the bedroom and pulled her bedroom door open by hoof. A mixed contingent of guards waited outside, led by Sergeant Nocturne. All of them bowed at the alicorn emerging from the door.
“Rise,” Celestia rasped.
They did so, only to bow again when Jungle Trek shuffled out. He had to roll up the sleeves of his borrowed tuxedo. The new Prince of Equestria laughed awkwardly in a high-pitched voice. “Rise?”
The four guards rose at his command.
Celestia took a deep breath. “Sergeant Nocturne, Private Swift Wing, Private Hard Point,” she greeted them individually. The red-velvet earth pony was last. “Corporal Long Spear.”
They bowed their heads.
“Your…discretion will be appreciated this morning,” she continued in a flat tone. It was still gravelly and harsh.
“Just like with Spear’s stupid tattoo,” Swift Wing muttered. “No worries, Princess.” The earth pony cringed and self-consciously swished his tail. Now that attention was called to it, Celestia noticed the discolored fur peeking out of his right foreleg’s greave. The magical paint glowed slightly.
It made her headache worse, so she looked to the walls. “Breakfast, my little ponies. I’m sure Kibbutz and Raven have…” she sighed, “…updates on the situation.”
“Of course, Princess,” Sergeant Nocturne said formally. He nodded to Jungle Trek. “Prince.”
Jungle Trek bit his lip. “Uh, by your leave?” The guards formed up into a square with a wide space in the middle. Celestia stepped into it as she always did.
Then she shuffled to the side and waved a wing for her husband. The square turned into more of a rectangle. Jungle Trek slowly clopped into the formation. He adjusted his pith helmet. Celestia’s tiara rested against her horn, off-kilter. She left it like that.
They began marching down the hallway. Usually, Celestia would have to balance her long-legged stride against her smaller guards so she did not overtake them, but today found herself staggering slow enough that her poor little ponies slowed down for her.
Old nag. One night of binge drinking, and ready for retirement.
“Princess?” Corporal Long Spear asked over his withers. The rectangle stopped.
“Nothing,” Celestia ground out with a voice that chewed gravel. She coughed into her hoof. “Nothing,” she repeated in a marginally improved whicker.
The guards shared a look. Celestia was too hungover to judge whether their expressions were worry, pity, or both. They resumed moving down the hallway. The grand hall to their private chambers was decorated with stained-glass windows to one side, then alternating, fawning arches of gold and silver in the rafters, and over a thousand years of gifts along the interior wall.
Celestia could not stare at the marbled floor; it was in a checkerboard pattern that made her eyes hurt. The windows merely let her cursed sun shine in her eyes. The roof also made her queasy. She settled for the long row of various trophies and gifts, pinching her eyes so she could barely see in a squint.
The alicorn reflexively laid her wing over Jungle Trek’s back to help balance herself. He was also along that side, using the larger alicorn to help block the sunlight. The earth pony tensed at the large white wing enveloping him.
Celestia retracted the wing. “Sorry, my little pony.” She stumbled on her left horseshoe.
“No,” Jungle Trek squeaked. “Uh, no, it’s fine.” He risked looking up at her with bloodshot eyes and cracked a grin. “I get it. It’s fine.” He shifted slightly closer to her.
“You are dealing with your liquor well,” Celestia commented in a slow whisper. At his implicit invitation, she leaned her wing atop his back again. It helped with her balance.
“Yeah, well, lots of, uh, mapmaking is drinking,” the Prince offered. “That’s why roads have so many unnecessary twists.”
Celestia snorted. She smelled raspberries from last night’s cocktails. The alicorn blinked heavily and looked at the interior wall. Her husband was fairing better with his hangover, having clearly imbibed less, but his pace matched hers. Jungle Trek had to keep rolling up the sleeves of his rented tuxedo.
The Prince of Equestria looked at the wall; his pith helmet rattled. “I’ve never been in the palace before, you know.”
“You married a Princess at your first gala then,” Celestia nickered without thinking. She would’ve stopped to punch herself, but that would have doubtlessly made her puke in the hall. Keep it interior, Huitzy. Don’t talk.
“I didn’t get a good look at anything last night,” Jungle Trek continued to her left. “You, uh, decided to carry me to the bedroom.” He missed a step and tittered. “With one wing.”
Sergeant Nocturne cleared his throat from in front of them. “Your sister has said it was most impressive.”
Celestia swallowed and kept walking. The hallway was mercifully clear of guards except her escort. She felt her headache recede marginally.
Then her husband began to talk.
“I dunno that pony,” he said idly to a bust of Starswirl the Bearded, minus the beard. “Dunno that one either,” he said to the next bust of a unicorn Celestia also failed to remember. Her husband began to make a running commentary of every artifact they passed, and Celestia’s headache marginally increased.
“I’m sorry,” Jungle Trek apologized. “I’m not good with dead air. I’m always looking for something to do in the jungle. Heh, it’s in the name, you know? Parents didn’t name me ‘Jungle Sit.’ I talk too much.”
Celestia did not reply. The walk had upset her stomach.
“You’ll tell me if it’s a problem?” Jungle Trek continued blithely.
Celestia said nothing.
“Huh. Dunno that pony either. I think the eyes are following us.”
The hallway should not be this long. Celestia became grateful for her husband’s prattle; it helped her assess her progress since she wasn’t focused on anything except trying not to vomit.
“That’s a cool tapestry.”
She failed. The alicorn leaned her long neck well past her husband and vomited. She had the presence of mind to push the rental-tux wearing stallion clear with her prodigious wing strength, and the guards winced and looked away.
Celestia hacked once after expelling over twenty cocktails and opened her watery eyes. She smelled raspberries. She winced at the tassels hanging in her eyesight, then slowly raised her head to stare at the tapestry she just defiled.
“I, uh, hope that wasn’t valuable,” Prince Jungle Trek commented. Long Spear pulled a rag from his greaves and trotted forward, but Sergeant Nocturne raised a wing and intercepted him.
Celestia’s horn flickered, but she cut the spell off at the pounding in her head. “It wasn’t,” she grunted to her husband. She twisted back to the guards. “Leave it. I’ll clean it myself later.”
“P-princess,” Sergeant Nocturne stuttered, “that tapestry is from Old Equestria.”
Celestia turned back to the fabric. A unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony joined hooves in a circle, facing outwards together while white lines swirled around them, representing the evil windigos. It was a simple design, but they made sure to capture the bright, smiling muzzles on each pony as they joined hooves. The entire picture was allegorical; one of the first depictions of Hearth’s Warming.
Celestia stared at it with watery magenta eyes, blinking in the sunlight.
Huitzilopochtli snorted. “What?”